


You broke what??

by Sarbear08



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bouncing to the moon, Definitely too much wine, Drunk Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drunk Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Lots of wine, M/M, One Shot, The one time Aziraphale and Crowley broke the bed, Wings, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarbear08/pseuds/Sarbear08
Summary: This is based off a post from @wrongomens on Twitter





	You broke what??

**Author's Note:**

> After taking a much needed mental break, I’m back! I’ve been super busy (and still am) but I’ve got a ton of new ideas, so I’ll try to write as often as I can!  
Hope everyone enjoys this!

“You broke _what??_” Anathema asked in shock.

Aziraphale blushed furiously, looking more similar to a tomato than a human—or angel, rather—should ever look. Crowley pushed his sunglasses farther up his nose.

“I can’t believe you guys broke the bed and forgot to fix it!” Anathema rubbed at her temples in frustration. “I’m _not _paying for this!” She waved a paper that was presumably a bill wildly in the general direction of Aziraphale and Crowley.

“God!” she exclaimed, “I let you stay at Jasmine Cottage for _one _night. One God-damn night.”

“Well,” Crowley said, “you’d be right about that bit. We’re almost certainly both damned by Her now.” He glanced at Aziraphale, a lewd grin on his face.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed, tugging at the demon’s sleeve. He turned back to Anathema, “we’re sorry,” he said apologetically.

“It must have been a wild night,” Madame Tracy piped up from behind Anathema, where she had most certainly _not _been listening to their conversation.

“Hehe, indeed,” Crowley sniggered, causing Aziraphale to turn an even deeper shade of red, if that were at all possible. “I’m a bloody demon, after all!”

“And I am quite sure I’m no longer an angel. I’ve most definitely fallen after…ahem, well, you know,” Aziraphale said sheepishly.

“Oh yes, do I know. Especially when–”

“No details, darling. They don’t need details.”

“Woah. Nonono,” Anathema said, shaking her head so quickly it was in imminent danger of flying right off her shoulders.

“We’ll pay for the repairs,” Aziraphale assured Anathema.

“Damn right you will!” she shouted. “How–wha–I– You know what? I don’t even want to know.”

“I do,” Madame Tracy whispered not-so-subtly to Shadwell—about as subtle as a herd of elephants marching through a church.

“Aye, never mind that, wumman,” Shadwell insisted, taking her hand and leading her further away from the group.

“We are terribly sorry, dear,” Aziraphale apologized again. “I assure you, we will pay for the…erm…damages.” The angel’s face grew hot in embarrassment as the events of the previous night flickered through his mind.

******

There had been wine. Bottles upon bottles of wine. Twenty-three bottles, to be exact, if they’d bothered to count them. They were drunk beyond belief—any human would most definitely be quite dead after consuming such amounts of alcohol. It was a miracle they were able to stumble into the bedroom at all, never mind doing so without knocking over any of the furniture in the cottage. Crowley collapsed onto the bed, limbs sprawled in all directions as Aziraphale awkwardly clambered on top of him. Crowley reached up and not-so-gracefully pulled Aziraphale down until their lips were mashed together in what had to have been the sloppiest kiss in the human history of kisses—and yet it felt oh so lovely.

With a loud pop and a rush of wind, Aziraphale’s wings manifested into reality behind his back.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, taken aback by their sudden appearance. He met Crowley’s eyes and they burst into hearty, drunken laughter in unison.

Still giggling, Aziraphale managed to tuck his wings away into another plane of existence, taking care they would remain there, this time. They resumed their drunken kissing, hands roaming lazily across cheeks, arms, down chests and across stomachs.

After what felt like hours—and what very well could have been hours, thanks to celestial beings not needing to breathe, and all—they finally broke apart. Aziraphale flopped down onto the bed next to Crowley, intertwining their fingers and idly stroking the demon’s hand with his thumb.

“Ngk. I–Er–I’ll never get tired of doin’ that, Angel.” Crowley slurred.

“Nor will I, darling,” Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut as his body sunk further into the mattress. It was so soft and– It would probably be perfect to– Crowley sat up suddenly, startling the Angel who had begun to drift off to sleep beside him.

“What is it, dear?” Aziraphale asked him, though he got no response.

Crowley began bouncing softly on the bed. “S’ bed is so…_bouncy,_” he mumbled in awe.

Aziraphale furrowed his brows in confusion, the alcohol making his head ache.

“Yesss,” Crowley continued. “So bouncy. Much more con-kuhmf-better. Much better than your old bed from the nineteenth century. Bet I could bounce high enough to be able to touch the–the moon!”

“Oh good Lord, Crowley. Listen to yourself. ’ve had far too much to drink,” the angel chastised him, even though his words were just as slurred—if not more—than the demon’s. “I’m sure you can’t jump high enough to touch the ceiling.”

“Oh, try me,” Crowley turned to the angel, a dangerously competitive glint in his eyes.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at the demon. He didn’t _really _think he could touch the moon, did he?

“Crowley, you’ve got wings,” Aziraphale said, vaguely gesturing behind his back. “Could just fly there.”

“_Fly?_” Crowley asked, obviously offended. “_Fly? _What fun is _flying _there?”

“Bouncing on a bed to reach the moon is more fun than flying there?” Aziraphale countered.

“Hell yes!” Crowley exclaimed, swaying as he pulled himself up until he was standing near the centre of the bed. He winked at Aziraphale then promptly launched himself into the air, not taking notice of how dangerously close his feet came to slipping off the edge of the bed. Aziraphale gasped as he was bounced off the end of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor.

“Crowley!” he exclaimed, picking himself up and dusting off his pant legs. “You–you’re acting like–like a _child!_”

“Come on, Angel! Jump to the moon with me!” Crowley paused, quirking an eyebrow at the angel and offering his hand to him. With a sigh, Aziraphale reluctantly took it and climbed onto the bed. Crowley resumed his wild jumping, taking both of Aziraphale’s hands and pulling the angel along with him.

“Come on, Angel! To the moooooon!”

Soon enough, Aziraphale was giggling along with Crowley, both of them jumping as high as they could. It felt like flying. It was a miracle—perhaps both demonic _and_ heavenly intervention—that neither of them drunkenly bounced right off the side of the small bed.

Crowley released one of Aziraphale’s hands, and reaching upwards, his fingers brushed against the ceiling. As he and Aziraphale landed simultaneously on the bed, an awful cracking rang throughout the room, collapsing the splintering bed as it split in two straight down the middle. Unfortunately, no amount of intervention—heavenly or otherwise—could have caught their swift, less than graceful tumble off the side of the bed.

“A–Aziraphale, are you alright?” Crowley whispered into the silence that had fallen over the room.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Angel?”

“Yes dear?”

“I believe we’ve broken it.”

“Yes. Yes, I believe we have.”

“How are we going to explain that?” Crowley asked, face flushing—definitely not with embarrassment at the thought of explaining to Anathema that they had been trying to jump high enough to reach the ceiling, never mind the moon.

“I–I’m not quite sure. To be honest, that was certainly not how I’d imagined we’d break a bed,” the angel added quietly.

Crowley’s flush spread down his neck.

“Ngk. Er–that actually gives me an idea, Angel.” A wicked grin lit up the demon’s face. Aziraphale knew better than to ask what said idea was, and instead settled on nodding in affirmation—of what, he wasn’t sure, and honestly, he wasn’t very eager to find out.

******

“Damn right, you’ll pay for it.” Anathema repeated, passing the bill to Aziraphale. “How–Oh I am really going to regret asking this,” she mumbled to herself. “How did you two fools really manage to break it?”

“I am a demon, you know,” Crowley said, as if that in and of itself was explanation enough.

At Anathema’s blank expression, he continued on. “We are know to be a bit…wild in the–erm–well, you know. In the bedroom,” he said quickly, spitting out the words as if they’d burn him.

“Oh my God, I never should’ve asked,” Anathema said, visibly shuddering at the thought.

“Well,” Aziraphale piped up. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve as well. Technically not an angel anymore,” he said, gesturing to himself. “But never mind that now,” he added, ignoring the shocked looks he was receiving from–well, from everyone.

“I did not see that one coming,” said Newt. “And I will never be able to un-see it, either.” He blinked harder than necessary a few times, trying to cleanse his mind of the unbidden images that had entered.

“I did,” Madame Tracy, who had somehow moved closer to them again, said. She patted Aziraphale on the arm before letting Shadwell lead her off again, presumably somewhere she wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop from.

“Oh my God,” Anathema whispered, taking a stunned Newt by the hand and pulling him away, leaving only Crowley and Aziraphale.

The instant their eyes met, they burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“They–they _believed _us!” Crowley exclaimed in-between bursts of laughter.

“They did!” Aziraphale said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most endearing way as he chuckled. “Oh, Crowley, we should tell them the truth.”

“No! We should absolutely not.”

“Did you see–their faces,” Aziraphale wheezed, sending both of them into another all-consuming bout of laughter.

“Priceless,” Crowley agreed, slinging an arm lazily across the angel’s shoulders as they walked towards the Bentley.

“They really thought we–” Aziraphale chuckled in spite of himself.

“I’m not sure that’s even possible. To bloody _break _the _bed,_” Crowley said, shaking his head.

Aziraphale suddenly grew quiet. “Well–”

“Ngh?”

“I suppose–well I mean–what I guess I’m trying to say is–well, it never hurts to try.”

Crowley nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Angel,” Crowley gasped with mock seriousness. “You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

“I do believe I am.”

Crowley grinned, his yellow eyes sparkling beautifully in the soft light. “I bet we can,” he challenged. They walked hand in hand to the Bentley, heading back to Soho.

Perhaps it was simply just a bed of decent construction, or perhaps it was a small ethereal or occult miracle. But even less likely, was that She had done a minor miracle of Her own.

Regardless of _how _the bed stayed put together, it was most certainly _not _for lack of trying.


End file.
